There's a dusty dry wind blowing through this West Texas town. As I let my pack slide down, and slip it off my arm. An old cowboy's sitting there, squinting my way. He spits and says, "Good life if ya don't weaken boy!" At that I turn my face back East, and then I think of you. After a minute, I'm looking for some water, or maybe just some shade. But I end up buying a lone star with my last Yankee money. Choke it down at first, throat's drier than I thought. Time and tide, they don't wait. I know that now, but sometimes I still fell like running back to the well. Seems I've spent all my days, looking for a better one. And these thoughts always catch me off guard. Like on my ass, in front of some little Texas store. Coming back from Mexico, and trying to remember home. It's just that the past makes a reach for you sometimes, like a shadow you chase, but won't ever catch.

I've been here to long now, so I get up and walk away. But my mind's thinking of some other day. When a couple of our dreams might be true.